SEALed With a Twist

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

  Could she shoot him again? The first time had been an accident. This would be deliberate. Planned. Premeditated. Was she prepared to be responsible for a man’s death? To deal with the kind of weight Grant carried around with him every day?

  “Give up, Skylar,” Brandon hissed, unaware she was right behind him. “We both know how this is going to end. We both know I’m going to win.”

  Rage swept over her again, chasing out fear and Skye suddenly had the clearest vision of her life.

  She knew what she had to do.

  Her hands were steady, gun raised and ready as Skye took the last, three quick steps between them to come right up at Brandon’s back.

  Crouched sideways to protect his wound meant Brandon’s head was right at Skye’s eye line. Without hesitating, she brought the butt of the gun down with both arms, all of her strength, and a very inelegant, unladylike grunt.

  Brandon dropped straight to the ground. At the last minute, he grabbed for the back of her calf. With a yelp, she quickstepped out of reach, then crouched over his unconscious body.

  “My name is Skylark.”

  “Nice hit, babe.”

  Skye whirled around, gun up again in front of her, back stepping fast. A pair of strong arms snatched her up before she could trip and swept her clear of Brandon, clutching her tight to a hard, male body.

  She knew that body.

  Skye twisted and threw her arms around Grant’s neck. “Thank God you’re here.”

  He squeezed her tight around the middle. “Here, but late again. Though looks like you handled things.”

  “I was making it up as I went,” she protested, voice slightly muffled since she’d tucked her face into his neck. “And absolutely terrified. Look,” she said, pulling back to hold her hand before his face. “I’m shaking.”

  Unfortunately, it was the hand that had a death grip on the gun.

  “Whoa!” Grant shouted, ducking to the side and grabbing her wrist. “Where did you get that?”

  “Brandon. He was in my apartment at Hibiscus Court when I got out of the shower. When I tried to get away, he shot me up with morphine. What did you think I hit him with?”

  “I couldn’t tell. I was about to take him out when you jumped up and coshed him.”

  Jasper bent over Brandon and checked his neck for a pulse. “He’s alive.”

  “Don’t sound so happy about it,” Skye snapped.

  Jasper rolled Brandon over, revealing the blood on his shirt. “And bleeding.” His eyes landed on the gun Grant was carefully extracting from her trembling hand. “You shot him?”

  “It was an accident.” Grant released her and Skye swayed on her feet. “It went off in my hand.”

  “Glock 9mm,” Grant placed the gun on the cubicle’s desk. “Trigger safety,” he explained to Skye. “Squeeze and go.”

  “Oh, that’s not terrifying at all.”

  There was a tearing sound; Skye whirled around to see Jasper strip the rest of Brandon’s shirt away with a knife he’d produced from the air for all Skye knew. Wadding it up, he pressed it to Brandon’s wound. “He’s gonna need an ambulance and fast.”

  Grant was already on his cell phone.

  “Looks like a lot of blood loss. Concussion you gave him likely doesn’t help,” Jasper told Skye.

  She linked both hands to try and control the shakes. “He deserved it,” she announced with a stubborn lift of her chin.

  As if he would argue that point. “And more,” Jasper agreed. “But we don’t want you up on manslaughter charges, do we?”

  She swallowed hard. “N-n-no.”

  Jasper pressed hard enough on Brandon’s wound to make him moan. “You’re in shock, Skye,” he said with a nod toward her trembling hands. “Perfectly normal. Twist will sort you out.”

  “Okay,” she said faintly as Grant reclaimed her, wrapping both arms around her from behind.

  “They’re on the way.” She tilted her head to see him studying Brandon. He touched his mouth to hers, gentle and sweet. “Proud of you, babe.”

  “Really?” He nodded. She sighed and leaned her forehead to his. “You were coming to rescue me,” she whispered.

  “Turns out you didn’t need rescuing," he replied in kind.

  “Not this time.”

  “Not any time.” His arms gave her a tight squeeze. “That’s my girl.”

  Skye wanted that. She wanted to be this man’s, belong to him in a way she’d never thought possible. Body and soul.

  Tell him now.

  But she didn’t want the words to come from her here, with Brandon bleeding despite Jasper’s efforts and Lord knew what kind of investigation ahead of them, possibly even assault charges, especially when they found the judge...

  Oh crap.

  “Um, you might want to find the office he kept me in.” She bit her bottom lip as Grant raised a brow. “I kind of knocked out a circuit court judge. With the morphine Brandon had planned for me.”

  Behind her, Grant started shaking with laughter and Skye saw Jasper bite back a smile.

  “I’ll take care of the judge after the paramedics get here. You get Lara Croft here settled before the cops arrive.” Jasper pinned her with a look that held so much authority, she was tempted to drop down and give him twenty right there.

  Fortunately, he didn’t ask. “You’re pressing charges, right? Kidnapping and assault to start.”

  “Um, yes?” His stare didn’t waver until she repeated “Yes,” with more conviction.

  “Hoo-rah,” he replied. He jerked his head toward Brandon before striking out after the judge. “Good job.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured as Grant slowly tugged her away. When they were in the elevator, she asked, “Who’s Lara Croft?”

  “A badass. Cops are gonna want to talk to you. We’ll get that out of the way so it’s done. Then I’m taking you back to Casa Blanca. Where we’re gonna get soused and fuck like bunnies.”

  His words sent lots of pleasant shivers through Skye though she realized that was probably from the shock.

  No, wait, it was just Grant.

  “I’m a badass?”

  He turned around to face her, bumping the doors open with his back so she could see the office lobby and elevator bank behind him. With a yank, he brought her up against him, making her giggle, before he cupped her head in his big hand and brought her in for another kiss, this one harder, wetter, and longer now his best friend wasn’t their audience. Skye fell into the kiss, fell into Grant, and knew she’d finally found a place to belong.

  Right here, in his arms.

  He lifted his head and she caught her breath. Pride and relief beamed down at her, and behind them, something much more.

  Something wonderful.

  “Hoo-rah,” she agreed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two months later

  Coronado Island, California

  “You just…left?”

  Grant lifted the bottle of IPA to his mouth and sucked back a few slugs of beer, which gave him time to resist the need to punch Putter in the face for making it sound so bad.

  Even if it was that bad.

  “Yup,” he finally drawled, wiping drops of beer from his mouth.

  “And you haven’t called or—what’s that shit, Skype?—or anything with her since?”

  “Nope.”

  “Son, you weren’t born stupid, so I can only assume that some ordinance exploded far too close to your head in recent days. The hell were you thinking, man?”

  “I was thinking,” Grant replied, drawing the word out to make his point, “that I had a job to get back to and a team to reconnect with. I couldn’t go with Skye to Miami to sort out her viper’s pit of a family without being marked AWOL. She’s got an army of the best lawyers money can buy.” He’d seen to that, making a rare salvo to his parents to have them discretely connect Skye with the right people, people Grant knew could be trusted not to screw her over—or place her family interests over hers. “Jasper kept tabs. Thing
s had gone south for her, he would’ve shot up a flare. Hell, he’d probably already have sorted it out before I could arrange transport.”

  He threw back more beer and waited for Putter to dish out more shit. But instead, the biker leaned back in his chair and studied Grant over his own bottle.

  “You’re not telling me something.”

  Grant didn’t reply.

  But the man was right.

  Grant wasn’t telling him the whole story.

  It’d been hours before the cops released them. Skye had repeated her story countless times, first to the uniforms, then to a few detectives, and finally to a captain who’d showed up in uniform, called in once the name Thornquist had filtered up the ranks. His presence meant Skye then had to take a call from her father, who was not in Shanghai as it turned out. Another of the asswipe’s lies meant to keep Skye’s family from realizing his schemes.

  Once Skye had reassured her suddenly interested father and made plans with him to meet the lawyer in two days (the real reason behind his sudden interest in his daughter, Grant had been willing to bet), Grant had had enough. He’d packed her up and taken her back to the villa where they sadly hadn’t gotten soused as he’d hoped. Skye had been dead on her feet, and as the shock finally wore off, the tears came pouring out, tears marked by intermittent rants and rages. When she’d wound down, he’d stripped them both and carried her into the hot tub, after which he took her to bed where she finally conked out.

  She’d roused him in the middle of the night with her mouth on his neck and her hand on his dick. “Let me,” she’d insisted.

  So he did.

  It was later, halfway between sleep and wake, when the dream had hit him. Filthy and violent, he’d come to reaching for his gun, sweat soaked and heaving air like he’d just finished the obstacle course back on base.

  Mercifully, Skye had slept through it. What if she hadn’t? What if he’d woken later, gun already in his hand? What if he’d pointed it at her, or, forget the gun, hurt her while caught in the nightmare’s web?

  He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt Skye.

  He’d grown complacent, forgotten what day-to-day life was like for him. Working some of his shit out with Jasper and Skye didn’t mean his head wasn’t seriously fucked. He couldn’t expect some hot sex and a few amateur therapy sessions to have miraculous results. He knew better than that from both his professions. Swept up in Skye’s drama, he hadn’t stopped to think how his usual status quo could impact her. He hadn’t realized he was probably her greatest danger.

  He’d slipped out of bed, silently packed his shit, and left before she woke.

  Putter put his bottle down and stared off into the courtyard. It was late afternoon and midweek, so the tourist traffic at McP’s pub was on the lighter side of annoying. Grant had grabbed an outside corner table, away from the sidewalk so no passersby could clock Putter.

  “It’d come as no surprise to you that I’ve done and seen shit in my time,” Putter said.

  Grant nodded. “Combat isn’t restricted to the front lines.”

  “Truth. From one warrior to another then. You find a beauty like that, someone who handles your shit and makes you a better man for it, you do not let her get away.”

  “You don’t get it,” he insisted stubbornly.

  “You’re a dumbass.”

  “Grateful we had this time before you ship out. Dunno what I’d do with your relationship advice.”

  The biker asked for a meet, and before he’d convinced Grant to fill him in on the latest Barefoot Bay adventure, had told him why. “Texas, huh,” Grant said now.

  Putter grunted. “Back home, yeah. The Lone Star fucking State.”

  “That gonna go well for you?”

  “Doubt it. Didn’t exactly throw me a going away parade when I left. But the trouble Wrench’s asshole family stirred up isn’t giving me much of a choice.”

  “Shit man. I’ll say it again, that shouldn’t be yours to carry.”

  “We all bear some part ‘a that burden. We each lost a man; we’ve each paid a price for it. Isn’t the only reason I’m going. Harvey knocked the shit outta a third of the state. Things’re fucked up all over. Texas chapter needs some new old-blood, get an outside perspective from someone who has skin in the game. Call came out; I answered it.”

  “You’ll give a shout, you start going under?”

  “That’d go over well, me calling in outside help from you pretty boys.”

  “Fuck you,” Grant muttered around a reluctant grin.

  “Speaking of fucking, don’t think you’re getting away with that bullshit about your girl.”

  That took care of Grant’s grin. “Dunno what you mean.”

  “You like this girl, man. Why’re you dicking her over?”

  “I don’t like her,” Grant denied. “I’m in love with her. That what you wanna hear? I’m fuckin’ mad for her. Been driving me nuts, being without her. Got back on active duty, sorted shit with my guys, that’s all because of her. What she gave me, how she helped sort out my head.”

  He slapped his now empty bottle down on the table and signaled a passing waitress for another round. “But this isn’t the world for Skye, and I’m not the man. Yeah, I’m in a better place, but, warrior to warrior, you know that doesn’t mean I’m not a danger to her. I’m not gonna do that to her, man.”

  “That’s a goddamn, stupid ass play.”

  Grant glared at him while the waitress served their new beers and swept away the empties. “I know,” he snarled when she was clear. “But it’s the only play I got right now.”

  Putter considered it for a minute. “Look, Twist, I got a few years on you.”

  “You’re thirty-eight, Grampa.”

  “That three years difference between us is key, son.” Grant snorted. “Listen to your elder when he tells you, don’t let this girl get away because you’re a dumbass. You’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

  Grant threw back half of the new bottle before he gave it all to his friend. “She doesn’t need me anymore.”

  “Because she took care of the dude who grabbed her before you could? That’s just more stupid.”

  Every time he thought of Skye whacking Brandon on the head with the gun, Grant wanted to laugh. “Should’ve seen her. She was magnificent.” He sobered abruptly. “But I was late again. Too late to help her. She had to save herself, and goddamn, it was a thing of beauty. But she shouldn’t have had to. Should’ve been there in time. And I wasn’t.”

  “Jesus, you’re an idiot.” Putter pulled his wallet out by its chain and slapped some bills on the table.

  “She can do better, man” Grant said, a tinge of desperation in his voice. Who was he trying to convince, Putter or himself?

  “‘Course she can,” Putter agreed. “Get on your knees and thank Almighty God she hasn’t figured that shit out yet. Then go get your girl before she does.” He kicked his chair back and stood. “I’m gone Thursday next week. Probably won’t see you again before then.”

  Grant stood and rounded the table to take his friend’s hand, pulling him in for a one-armed hug and several back pats, which Putter returned. “Stay safe, brother.”

  “You too, man.” They released, but Putter wasn’t done. “And get yourself some goddamn happy along the way, for Christ’s sake. You’ve earned it, Twist. Many times over. Don’t fuck this up.”

  An hour later, after opting to eat at McP’s to give Putter time to get clear, Grant drove home, the biker’s words knocking about in his brain the whole way.

  Leaving Skye was, he’d admit, at least to himself, not his best move.

  “I am a dumbass,” he muttered. “Frickin’ Putter.”

  He’d really fucked things up with Skye. He told Putter the truth; he didn’t want to subject Skye to a military life, not after she’d had so much of her world controlled by being a Thornquist. He’d seen that shit rip into Jasper and Quinn’s relationship too, and while Quinn would never have asked
Jasper to leave the teams, Grant knew she was a large part of his friend’s decision to pursue the SOCOM job.

  He couldn’t do that. He’d left civilian life behind long ago. He was a SEAL, he had no interest in a desk job or any command that took him away from walking side by side with his men. Skye deserved the kind of commitment Jasper gave Quinn, not a second-place behind whatever mission Grant was deployed on.

  But all that was bullshit.

  He pulled into his driveway, the gate of his eight-foot fence shuddering closed behind him as he parked and hoisted himself out of the low-slung sports car and headed for his front door.

  Truth was, he was scared to death he’d hurt her. He’d honestly thought the nightmares were behind him. Boy, had he had a rude fucking awakening there. He wasn’t going to risk being wrong again.

  She deserved a beautiful life on her own terms, not weighed down with a damaged man who may never make it all the way back to the light.

  He had to let her go. For her sake.

  Even if it killed him.

  Grant stopped short of his front door.

  The paper he habitually left in the jamb was instead on the front stoop.

  Someone was in his house.

  Silently, he slipped round to the back of the house, and raced to the shed where he kept a weapon. Armed, he crept to his house.

  There was a light on in his kitchen he knew he’d switched off before he left. It put in silhouette a head he knew all too well.

  “Fucking hell.”

  He strode up the back steps and stomped in through the unlocked back door. “I almost shot you!” He tossed the gun on the kitchen island as Skye jumped off one of its bar stools.

  “Don’t you yell at me, Grant Sisti!”

  “I think I get to yell when you break into my house.”

  She sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s hardly breaking in when you have a key.”

  “Where did you get—” He stopped, the answer obvious. “Goddamn Jasper.”

  “Jasper told me I’d be better off letting you—I believe his exact words were ‘sit in his own shit’. It was Quinn who convinced him to give me a key anyway. I think she’s hoping I’ll shoot you next.”